


The Penance

by RecordRewind



Category: OFF (Game), OFF (Video Game)
Genre: Consensual Violence, Dom/sub, Dominance, F/M, Flogging, Humiliation, Masochism, Punishment, Submission, submissive Batter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-15
Updated: 2013-05-15
Packaged: 2017-12-11 23:47:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/804645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RecordRewind/pseuds/RecordRewind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt from jerkin_off: "the Batter will allow himself pleasures of the flesh only after paying a rightful price for the impure acts he's about to  The Batter is not half as chaste as he likes to make out... But he'll only allow himself get off if it either hurts or humiliates him. His logic being that he's doing the penance at the same time as committing the sin. (In truth, however - whether or not he'll admit it - the pain or humiliation is part of what turns him on.) " The Queen will gladly administer the punishment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Penance

**Author's Note:**

> Written for jerkin_off, posted here with a change of title.

He has been on his knees for hours. Straight back, gaze firmly set in front of him. Hands beside his back, wrists crossed. He needs no restraints, he _wants_ no restraints. They would help, make things easier. He will have none of that.

He doesn't flinch when he hears the door opening, the soft barefoot steps beside him. The Queen doesn't spare a glance for her consort as she walks around him to a cabinet, choose a bottle and pours herself a cup of liquor. She sits on an armchair, her loosely tied gown barely clinging to her shoulders, and sips her drink, eyes wandering as if chasing some idle thought, before finally setting on his naked form.

"Have you had time to think about your mistakes, my love?" she asks.

He nods.

"How many? How many impure thoughts to make amend for?"

He says a number. She smiles.

She places the glass on a small table, stands up, goes to the cabinet again, opens another drawer. When she turns around she holds in her hand a cat o'nine tails. The flogger is an exquisite instrument, crafted for the Queen's hand only. Its metal handle is covered with leather, a material so rare it has become legendary among the common population. The tails are leather too, breaded in tight, evenly spaced knots, and small beads of metal of the finest kind are secured to each tip.

Just seeing the instrument is enough to make the Batter's back tingle, the memory of pain sculpted into his skin. He closes his eyes, finds it hard to swallow. When he opens them again the Queen is close. She tips his chin up using the whip's handle and leans in.

"You're a sinner," she whispers, her tone reproachful, her eyes saddened. The Batter nods again. He knows it all too well.

"You swore you would be good, you would be pure. Instead, you gave into the temptation. This is not what is expected of a King. You tarnished your thoughts, you wandered off the rightful path. And what's worse... you're about to sin again."

Every word hits like a slap, and the Batter struggles not to avert his eyes in shame.

Her tongue darts out, traces his now parted lips. 

"What do you have to say?"

He has to fight against his dry throat to regain control of his voice.

"Nothing. I don't... I don't deserve pity."

She pulls away, and he gives in just a little, leaning forward. He licks his lips, searching for a taste of her tongue. 

She walks around him, toying with the straps, then she comes to stand right behind him. She nudges his hands with her foot, and he brings his hands forward and places them on his thighs. His arms are sore, like his knees, but he doesn't care. He deserves the pain, deserves this punishment.

He needs it, even if he will never voice this aloud.

The Batter's breath is steady, he is bracing himself for what is to come. He knows the Queen is taking in his bared back, the skin marked by barely visible lines. After this is over, she will take him to the bathing room, she will clean his marks with soft cloths and rub soothing unguent, she will heal the worse gashes with luck tickets, leaving no trace of them. That's not something he desires _something he needs_ , but she does, she loves tending to him like that and will have the punishment end in no other way.

Time stretches on, she's making him wait for longer than usual, and the Batter feels nervousness crawl upon his spine. He doesn't want to add impatience _greed_ to the list of his transgressions, but he's growing restless. He needs her to purge him of his impurities. He needs...

He feels the Queen's breath caress his ear.

"Don't worry, my love. I will never have you begging, neither for pleasure, nor for pain."

And she administers the first stroke.

The Queen is slow at first, lets the tails fall down between the blows, thuds resonating in the room. Her movements are experienced, she lands every sharp stroke with precision until his whole back feels on fire, and then burns even more. Ten strokes for every transgression he has confessed, the Batter doesn't even try to keep count, he knows she will, the punishment will last as long as it has to. He breathes out through clenched teeth as her pace quickens, the blows coming over him hard, unmerciful, white flashes from his skin to his brain, and he welcomes the pain, yields to it _craves more, harder, faster, MORE_ as the fair retaliation for the weakness of his flesh, the weakness of his mind. 

When the blows abruptly stop the Batter almost loses his balance, like flogger was the one thing keeping him steady, and he has to sit down on the balls of his feet. His head is dizzy, his ears ring with the echo of the blows, and the room seems to spin. He feels movement, sees the Queen move into his field of vision, her breasts rise and fall under her gown, as she pants. She locks her flustered gaze with him.

Her foot moves between his knees, she lifts it and caress the side of his shaft with her toe.

His cock is hard, leaking. 

“ _Impure_ ,” she hisses, echoing the voice into his own mind.

She drops to straddle his thighs, one arm around his neck, her fingers digging into the reddened crisscross on his back, the other hand reaching down to position him. He raises to meet her with a snarl, hands on her hips, finds her soaked, scalding hot, ready to devour him. They collide and he pushes her down, pounds into her, his knees rub hard on the floor, ache, her nails break the martyrized skin of his back and it electrifies him, the pain shoots straight to his core and his whole world tightens, to need and pain and pleasure beyond rationality. He wails as he comes inside his Queen.

The stinging on his back is the first sensation he comes back to, after the almost loss of consciousness of the orgasm, and it is only fair, the Batter thinks. The right price to pay, for what has transpired. The Queen holds him into her arms, tenderly pets his hair. Her smile knows better.

“Thank you,” he says softly. He pushes himself up to kiss her, as he slips out of her sex, and she moans into his mouth. The Batter grins.

His turn.


End file.
